


Not A Champion

by drabbleswabbles



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Romance, Slavery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:24:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8744623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drabbleswabbles/pseuds/drabbleswabbles
Summary: Garrett Hawke tries to stay as far from trouble as possible and to discourage his younger brother from pursing one reckless adventure after another. Fenris tries to stay as far from mages as possible while he awaits his final battle against Danarius. Neither one of them has much success. Basically, an AU in which Carver is the Champion, Hawke is the reluctant sidekick stumbling into adventures of his own, and Fenris discovers he may have more in common with a certain mage than he cares to admit.





	1. The Other Hawke

     The stench of rancid ale, vomit, and Maker knew what else greeted him at the entrance of the Hanged Man. Hawke pushed open the door and stepped inside with the faked confidence of someone who'd spent a lifetime drinking in seedy city taverns, rather than mucking out barns. He knew that he looked the part. Mother always insisted that he'd inherited his height and looks from her side of the family. Going unnoticed had never been in the cards for him. No matter how much his parents tried to teach him to blend into the background. Then again, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. Who would suspect an apostate to walk so boldly in plain sight? He didn't match the image of a scrawny, pale mage, kept hidden away in secret. It had kept him out of a Circle thus far. That he'd learned to wield a sword didn't hurt either. None of which kept Carver from trying to keep him tucked away at home. Hawke gritted his teeth. Enough was enough. If he had to spend one more day with Gamlen, he'd give himself up to the templars willingly. He wasn't going to let Carver go on another one of his insane adventures and leave him behind to take care of everything. They needed a steady source of income to get them out of Gamlen's house, if one room shared by four could even be called that. They couldn't afford squandering hard earned coin on a voyage to the middle of nowhere on the word of a dwarf with questionable motives.

     They were at their usual corner table. Varric shuffled cards and nodded along to whatever Aveline was telling him. Anders stared into his soup, pale as ever. And at the head of the table was no other than Carver, leader of his little band of misfits.

     "If only Mother knew that the market you spend so much time in sells nothing fit for eating or drinking." It hadn't taken him long to figure out where Carver disappeared to whenever he claimed to go to market and returned with nothing to show for it.

     Carver scowled up at him. "What are you doing here?"

     "I might ask you the same question. Do you think that I'm an idiot? I know what you're doing."

     "I have no idea what you're talking about. We're playing cards. Isn't that right, Varric?"

     Varric sighed. "Might as well do this now, Junior. Avoid any scenes later. Bartrand gets jumpy."

     Carver shrugged. "Fine then. We're working out the details of the trip to the Deep Roads. Anders has given us the maps, as promised. And I almost have the coin Bartrand wants."

     "Carver, this is insane." He dropped a hand on his shoulder. "You can't-"

     The rest of his argument was cut off when someone shoved him against the nearest wall and closed a hand around his throat. Hawke blinked and found himself eye to eye with a shock of white hair.

     "Move and I'll rip out your throat."

     "Let him go, Fenris!"

     The hand pulled away as quickly as it had appeared. Hawke attempted a dignified coughing fit.

     "This oaf, he is bothering you?"

     "No more than usual," Carver said, sounding amused. "Fenris, meet Garrett. My brother."

     Hawke stared at Fenris through watering eyes. The elf stared back with eyes so green that for a second he almost forgot to be furious. But only for a second. "You tried to kill me!"

     "You are mistaken. If I wanted to kill you, you would be dead."

     "Enough," Carver said, as if he were scolding a group of squabbling children. "Sit down, both of you. All of Kirkwall will notice if you keep carrying on like this."

     Hawke dropped into the nearest chair, still rubbing his throat. Fenris looked at the only open seat left next to Anders and turned to pull up another chair to the other end of the table. Hawke watched him. At first glance, he wouldn't have thought him capable of moving much more than a chair without struggle. Clearly, he wasn't the only one here with hidden talents.

     "Good. Now, I've had a good amount of time to think about who'll be coming along. I've talked it over with Varric and we reckon that two more passengers is about as many as Bartrand will agree to take on without demanding more money. Aveline, if you can tear yourself away from guard duty I'd like to have your sword at my side."

     "You have it."

     "Anders. We may need a healer. Besides you're the only one out of all of us who's actually been to the Deep Roads."

     "I wish I could say otherwise," Anders said. "But very well. I'd be lying if I said the clinic couldn't use the coin."

     Hawke glared at Carver. He wanted to point out that he could act as healer and fighter, but he didn't dare reveal such a thing around Fenris or Varric. Anders and Aveline knew he was an apostate. But he couldn't risk that knowledge slipping out to someone who might turn him over to the templars for a handful of coin. No doubt Carver knew that. It was why he always held his meetings here in the tavern, instead of in a private place where Hawke could point out the idiocy of sailing off on a trip with no reward guaranteed and very obvious risks.

     "I offer my sword in her place," Fenris cut in. "I will be of more aid in enclosed spaces."

     Aveline snorted. "With that giant sword of yours? I think not."

     "We both know I'm not speaking of my sword."

     "No." Carver shook his head. "Your markings draw far too much attention. We'll have enough to worry about as it is without someone recognizing you."

     Hawke wondered at that. The elf did have some sort of tattoos on his neck and hands. Was Fenris a famous warrior? Whatever the answer, he didn't learn it. Fenris scowled, but didn't argue further.

     "Varric, do you mind if we make use of your suite? I wouldn't want anyone looking over our shoulder at these maps."

     "Lead the way, Junior."

     The others followed, leaving only him and Fenris at the table. Hawke sighed. There was no changing Carver's mind once he'd made it up. It had always been that way. Bethany had been the only one who could reason with him. He pushed aside the memory of her body crumpling to the ground. Someone had to stay behind to take care of Mother. While Carver was off on his glory seeking adventure he'd stay and take care of the practical things. Like making sure they didn't starve. He'd always been good at that, not that there was much glory in it. He looked up at Fenris whose eyes had strayed to the dregs of cold stew that Anders had left behind. They snapped back to him only an instant later. Hawke felt a pang of sympathy. Kirkwall wasn't an easy place to get by for anyone. It had to be even more so for an elf.

     "You've got quite the grip."

     "Yes."

     Hawke snorted. It was absurd. A few months ago he'd been arguing with Bethany over the best spell to knock apples from a tree. Now, he sat across from someone who'd tried to choke him to death, trying to make polite conversation. Bethany had longed for adventures just like in the books she'd read over and over until the spines cracked. She would have loved all of it, even sitting in a miserable tavern. 

     "How did you meet Carver?"

     "I hired him."

     Hawke raised an eyebrow. "And now you're the one who wishes to be hired?"

     "That is not your concern."

     "It just so happens, I might have a job for you." With Fenris at his side he'd be able to focus on gathering the finest elfroot for the apothecary without fear of the bandits that prowled the Wounded Coast sneaking up on him. If he bargained well they'd both make enough coin to keep themselves fed for a few days.

     "What sort of job?"

     "How do you feel about flower picking?"


	2. Bloody Flowers

     More than anything Fenris hated incompetence. It was distasteful in others, and intolerable in himself. It unnerved him, just how often he found himself incapable of tasks easily manged by children. Serving Danarius hadn't left him equipped with the skills for day to day life as a free man in Kirkwall. He wasn't good at managing money. Bargaining effectively at the market without the use of his sword eluded him. There'd been plenty of other slaves who took care of such tasks for Danarius. On his first day at the market he'd paid a whole silver for a loaf of bread. Days later, during a game of cards with Varric and Carver he'd realized in fury and shame that such a sum should have fed him for a week or more.

     He was done running from Danarius. Living that way, it was no life at all. And so, he needed coin. On the run he'd stolen most of what he needed. He'd always been gone long before anyone noticed anything missing. That wouldn't work for long in Kirkwall. His markings made him far too recognizable. Stealing in Kirkwall would land him in a jail, or worse if the occasional corpse he stumbled upon in Darktown was any indication. He needed to find other ways to keep himself fed.

     Which was how he found himself trekking around the Storm Coast guarding Garrett Hawke as he gathered elfroot. Perhaps if he did well then Garrett would put in a good word for him and Carver might change his mind and bring him along to the Deep Roads after all. Relentlessly as Danarius hunted him, he doubted that he'd risk following him there. It would be a marvel to sleep with only darkspawn to worry about.

     They wandered the Storm Coast for the better part of the morning. Hawke whistling most of the way despite the hilly climb. He gathered stalks of elfroot with the brutal efficiency of someone with years of experience. Fenris watched him. How could this man be Carver's brother? He looked older, yet clearly of the two of them he wasn't the leader. Nor did he seem to be much of a warrior. He had a sword with him, but carried it awkwardly, as if he weren't used to having it at his side wherever he went. No wonder he'd been willing to hire him, even after he'd tried to choke him. The man had to be desperate to find anyone competent to protect him for what would no doubt be pitiful earnings.

     When the sun reached the highest point in the sky, Hawke stopped and pointed toward the shade of a small cave. "Let's take a break. You must be boiling in that armor."

     "I have worn it in warmer weather."

     "Consider me impressed." Garrett sat down in the shade. "But please, sit with me. You've already bruised my neck. Must my ego be next?"

     Fenris hesitated. He'd mistaken Garrett for one of the many thugs that frequented the Hanging Man. In retrospect perhaps it would have been wise to explain himself earlier. "I should apolo-"

     Garrett waved away his words. "I'm joking, Fenris. Sit down. I'm glad my brother has someone like you to watch his back. He's got a knack for finding trouble."

     Fenris sat down. It did feel good to lean against the cool side of the cave.

     "Carver is a good man. I owe him a debt."

     "I thought you hired him?"

     "It's complicated."

     Garrett opened his pack. "Sounds like Carver. But you're in luck. No complications here. We get these herbs back to town. We get paid."

     "You tempt fate."

     Garrett pulled out a sandwich. "So I've been told. Aren't you going to eat?"

     "I didn't bring anything." In truth, he didn't have anything to bring. Even if he had, he wouldn't have thought that Garrett would let him sit alongside him and rest as opposed to standing guard outside the cave as a proper guard for hire ought to.

     "Here." Garrett ripped the sandwich in half.

     "I couldn't."

     "It's not that good. The bread is a bit stale," Garrett said. "You can't just sit there watching me eat. Makes me nervous."

     How many hours had he spent guarding Danarius at endless dinners on an empty stomach? Too many to count for certain. He accepted the bread, more soggy from a slice of tomato than stale and bit into it. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. Or so insisted his empty stomach.

     "Your tattoos..." Garret waved his sandwich half in a vague swirling motion. "They're lyrium, aren't they?"

     The bread turned to ash in his mouth. Sometimes he suspected the markings themselves allowed Danarius to track him through some spell. Their other danger came from those who might recognize them from a wanted poster and turn him over to slavers for a share of the profit. Or anyone who might think to skin him for the lyrium itself. "And if they are?"

     "Just curious." Garrett shrugged. "I've never seen anything like them. Must have been painful to get."

     Terror, the stench of burning skin, and a pain so consuming that it had swallowed all of him. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. Danarius chanting, something sharp and shinning in his hand. Choking on his own cries and struggling against invisible bonds. The spells that held him in place never wavered, but he had escaped anyway. Whoever he'd been had fled, somewhere far away from that room and the pain and from everything that would follow. Danarius always gloated that of all experimenters, he was the only one with the skill to perform the ritual and see the subject survive. But Fenris had always known, even when Danarius had been his whole world that in this the Magister was wrong. He hadn't survived. The person who'd undergone the ritual was dead, replaced through years of twisted magic, servitude, and humiliations by himself. 

     "They have served me well."

     They spent the rest of the meal in silence. When they'd both finished, Garrett stood up and glanced into the bag of herbs. "We shouldn't need more than another hour or two."

     Fenris stood up and in the few seconds that it took him to straighten, three men appeared in front of them.

     "Halt! You are in possession of stolen property!"

     For a moment everything fell perfectly still. His heart skipped a beat and his breath left him, as if staying still might keep him from being noticed. Slavers. Fear clawed its way into his chest. He glanced toward Garrett. Would he end up fighting three or four?

     Garrett glanced at the bag in his hand. "Er... You mean the elfroot?"

     "Don't play a fool! Hand over the slave and no one gets hurt."

     "My dear man," Garret said. "You must be mistaken. Slavery is a crime."

     The slaver sighed. "Let us speak plainly. His Master is a Magister of great renown. He's offered a handsome reward for the knife ear. Help us and he'll reward you generously. What will it take, forty gold coins? Fifty?"

     Fenris didn't wait for Garrett's response. He didn't dare. He moved, lyrium flaring and tore through the chest of the nearest slaver. He reached for his sword and cut through the second in one smooth movement. The third put a blade to his throat. He didn't think twice about it. Danarius would not capture him. He leaned into the cold steel.

     It stung only for a moment and then the slaver fell backwards to the ground. There was frost in his hair and in is beard. Fenris looked up at Garrett whose hands were still in the air.

     "You're bleeding."

     He wiped a hand over his throat and glanced down at it. There wasn't enough blood on it to suggest more than a shallow cut. "You're a mage."

     "Yes."

     Mages! Would he ever be free of them? He'd escaped Tevinter only to have magic hunt him at every turn, like a plague burned into his flesh and soul. He'd know that there'd been something about the way Garrett carried his sword. Still, mage or not Garrett had fought beside him. Not every mage was like Danarius. Or so he dared hope.

     Garrett looked down at the slavers, paused for a moment on the pool of blood forming around the one with a sizable hole in his chest, turned to the side and vomited. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "We should get out of here."

     Fenris fought against the rage building in him as he followed Garrett out of the cave. How long would he have to go on living with snarling wolves at his back? Three slavers! Danarius was toying with him. If he'd truly expected to capture him he would have sent many more. His hands trembled. Only three and still, he'd almost died. The pace of their return left him panting for breath and soaked in sweat. He almost crashed into Garrett when he came to a sudden stop at a curve just ahead of the main road to Kirkwall.

     "What's wrong?"

     "Where do you live?"

     "Hightown."

     Garret pulled off his cloak, uncorked his flask, and poured all of his water onto it. Then without pause took a step toward him and wiped the wet cloth over his face.

     Fenris jumped back. "What are you-"

     "Quiet! Do you want the guards to come running? You've got blood all over. Wipe your face and put this on. That'll cover most of the damage."

     And whether out of habit or good sense, Fenris obeyed.


	3. Call Me Hawke

     Hawke followed Fenris into the crumbling mansion. He froze at the sight of corpses propped up by the grand staircase. Judging by the layer of dust covering them, they weren't fresh. The hall smelled of mildew and dust rather than of rotting corpses. Only powerful magic could have turned these men into gruesome decorations.

     "My former Master's employees." Fenris said this as if he were describing a dull piece of art. He pulled off the cloak Hawke had lent him and handed it back to him.

     He took it, forcing himself to look away from the dead men. "I need a drink."

     Fenris nodded.

     He followed him through a maze of smashed and charred furniture into what must have, in better days, been an exquisite dining room. Now, it held little more than a chair facing the fireplace and a small side table. Fenris left the room only to return a moment later dragging a chair with one hand and carrying a bottle of wine with the other.

     Hawke took a seat and flicked a hand toward the fireplace. The logs burst into flame with a loud crackle. Fenris flinched, but didn't comment.

     "I can heal your cut."

     "No." Fenris uncorked the bottle with a flash of lyrium. "My markings react to magic. It's... unpleasant."

     He hadn't given that consideration. What it would be like to work magic around so much lyrium? Intoxicating most likely. But to try healing magic on an unwilling patient would be a violation of every principle of healing. He pulled a small container out of his pack and set it on the table in between them. "Elfroot salve. It'll sting. But you don't want that getting infected."

     Fenris took a gulp straight from the bottle before passing it to him. "If I had know that Danarius would send slavers after me again so soon, I wouldn't have agreed to act as your guard."

     Hawke took a cautious sip. "Again?"

     "That's how I met Carver. He helped me clear this mansion and to kill the slavers Danarius had sent after me." Fenris sighed. "I'm afraid that your brother already looted this place of most valuables in payment of my debt to him, but you are welcome to search it for anything you like."

     He choked on the wine. "Looted? What do you mean loot- Carver asked for payment?"

     "Of course. He is a sword for hire, is he not?"

     "Yes. But-" He handed back the bottle. "There is more to this world than coin."

     "Don't be naive." Fenris laughed. "Do you think Danarius hunts me because he can not find a better guard? No. It's because of coin. Or in my case, the lyrium he burned into my flesh to provide the power he required of his pet. I am an investment gone bad and he intends to get it back by tearing it from my corpse."

     "Sounds like a waste of perfectly handsome elf."

     Fenris stared at him wide eyed then cleared his throat and took another gulp of wine.

     Hawke suppressed a groan. What was he doing? A conversation about slavery and gruesome murder was hardly the time for flirting. He rubbed the back of his neck searching for a change of topic. "So, the markings. You used them in battle today, didn't you?"

     "Yes."

     "Do they hurt?"

     Fenris looked away. "You do not want to know the answer to that."

     His heart clenched at the answer. Of course they had to hurt. He thought of the strange burning tingle of drinking a lyrium potion. It wasn't entirely unpleasant. But a potion contained only a tiny amount of it, mixed with all sorts of soothing ingredients that settled the stomach. He couldn't imagine the pain pure lyrium flaring against flesh might cause. "I'm sorry."

     "It's not your fault, Garrett. Thank you for your help today. I wish I had more to offer to repay you."

     "Well, I do have an idea..."

     Fenris looked at him, wary. "Yes?"

     "Call me Hawke. I never much liked Garrett."

     "You're a strange man, Hawke."

     "Well," Hawke grinned. "I've been called worse."

     He took advantage of the moment of silence to look around the room. There wasn't much to see in the darkness. Stains covered the walls, although in the flickering of the flames he couldn't tell what had caused them. Perhaps that was for the best. As much as he hated living under the same roof with Galmen he couldn't imagine living in a crumbling mansion with nothing but dust and corpses for company. Smashing glass startled him out of his thoughts. Glass and droplets of wine slid down the wall. He turned back to Fenris and raised an eyebrow.

     "Care for more wine?" he asked, as if this were a normal manner in which to dispose of empty bottles.

     He shook his head. "Maybe some other time. I have to get back home."

     "Suit yourself." Fenris stood from his chair and walked out of the room.

     Hawke waited, unsure if he should wait for him to return and offer a formal goodbye, but when after a few minutes Fenris didn't return, he left.

  
  
                                                                                                           ***

  
     He could hear the shouting even before getting into the house. The walls of Gamlen's home didn't offer much in the way of soundproofing. They were lucky that they hadn't been tossed into the street by neighbors fed up with all the arguing they'd done since arriving here. He couldn't make out the words from the outside, but he knew anyway. Carver was set to depart for the Deep Roads tomorrow morning and he'd waited until the last minute to make the announcement.

     "How could you hide this from us?"

     "Good! Let him go. One less mouth to feed."

     "Mother, I can take care of myself. Don't worry. You'll see. This will be a good-"

     Hawke stepped inside and took in the scene. Gamlen stood by the fireplace with his arms crossed, wearing his usual sour expression. Meanwhile Mother clung to Carver's shirt as if she intended to keep him from leaving by force.

     "Garrett!" She turned to him, wild eyed. "Where have you been? Carver wants to go to the Deep Roads!"

     He considered for a moment pretending to be surprised by the news, but he'd never been much good at that sort of acting. After a lifetime of playing the part of an ordinary farm boy to the outside world, he didn't have the heart to pretend around those closest to him. "I know."

     "You knew about this?" She released Carver and turned on him. "And you didn't tell me? Why haven't you tried to stop him? Are you going with him?"

     "He's not going," Carver cut in. "And he's not stopping me." 

     "Please, at least take your brother. He can heal-"

     "I'm not going alone! I'll have plenty of other people with me, including a much better healer. Everything will be fine."

     It wasn't exactly incorrect, but Hawke couldn't deny that it stung to hear so blunt an assessment of his abilities as compared to Anders.

     "It's not fine. What if something happens to you? I can't lose you too! Where will we turn if the templars come?"

     Carver threw his hands in the air. "Can't you see that's exactly what I'm trying to protect us from? We need coin or status. Preferably both. Anything to keep us safe from the templars! You want me to wait here for someone to turn us in?"

     "Fine! Go then! It's what you always do!" Leandra shouted. "Why should I be surprised? You let Bethany die, what does it matter to you if we all starve!" She stormed across the room and yanked the curtain to her sleeping area closed behind her.

     Hawke stared after her, stunned. He didn't always see eye to eye with Carver, but to accuse him of Bethany's death... It was a cruelty he'd never expected of Mother. Carver turned on his heel and slammed the door on his way out.

     Gamlen snickered. "Looks like Leandra's still got one girl left."

     "Shut up." No matter how much he might bicker with Carver or tease him, it raised his hackles to hear anyone else say a word against him. Carver was his younger brother. No one else had the right to torment him. "You don't know a thing about him."

     He rushed out the door, expecting to have to search at least half the city. But Carver hadn't made it far. He sat on the stoop of the building staring into the darkness. Garrett took a seat next to him, the old wood creaking under his weight.

      _He comes into the kitchen, excited because it's the twins birthday which means there will be apple pie, Bethany's favorite. Mother is peeling potatoes, pausing every once in a while to glance over at Bethany who's sketching a vase of flowers. Carver is sitting next to her, scowling down at the table._

_"What's wrong with you now?" he asks._

_He can't understand why Carver is always sullen and angry. He's not the one who has to spend hours cooped up at home studying ancient texts under Father's watchful eye. Instead, he gets to go into town and do as he pleases. He doesn't wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares of templars dragging him to a Circle. He's normal. One day he'll settle down into a perfectly boring life. He won't have to spend the rest of his life on the run, always looking over his shoulder, never able to to trust another person with the truth of himself._

_"Bugger off."_

_"Carver," Mother scolds._

_"Why?" Carver bursts out. "Why can't I? It's my birthday too!"_

_Bethany looks up from her drawing, wide-eyed._

_"We've talked about this." Father comes into the kitchen. "This is a good place. We can't afford to bring attention to ourselves. People will talk. They'll want to come here and meet me. They'll ask all kinds of questions."_

_"It's not fair. You teach Garrett and Bethany, why can't I have a teacher too? I just wanted to-"_

_Father slams his palm against the counter. "Enough! Have you no sense? You can't be taught by templars! Do you want them to take your brother and sister to a Circle? To take me? Have you ever given a thought to what you mother and I sacrificed so we could have this life?"_

_"So what?" Carver challenges. "Because of your stupid sacrifices I can't do anything? Why'd you leave the Circle anyway? So you could hide in this shithole village? I never asked for this!"_

_"Consider it a life lesson," Father retorts, eyes on Carver. "We don't always get what we want."_

     At the time he'd been far too annoyed with Carver for ruining the night to give much thought to the words exchanged and how much they must have hurt. All he'd know was that his younger brother had turned into a brat, refusing to speak or causing discord with angry outbursts. When they were younger they'd been inseperable. They'd stayed up late into the night whispering about the adventures that they'd have when they were both older, evading templars and learning wild magic from Dalish mages until Father came into the room and scolded them for staying up long past their bedtime. After it became obvious that Carver would never be a mage, it wasn't the same.

     Sometimes he wonder what would have happened if he'd followed Carver when he'd stormed out of the house that night. If he'd taken a moment to think what it must have been like for Carver in those years. To be the only child without magic, with no expectations on him but that he not draw attention to himself. Maybe things would be different between them now.

     Carver rolled a loose stone around with his shoe. "I shouldn't have come back. I could have made my fortune if Bethany was going to die under my watch anyway."

     "That's- Don't say that." He put a hand on Carver's shoulder. "She didn't die on your watch. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. It was... It just happened. I'd break her heart if she knew you were blaming yourself."

     Carver shrugged him off and dropped his head low. "Mother blames me. She can't even look me at me."

     "She's scared and she's taking it out on you. But she's wrong."     

     "I _have_ to go. This could set us up for life. I can't keep working for scum. Without this expedition we won't last out the year." Carver hunched his shoulders in a way that he knew instinctively meant he was fighting back tears.

     He hesitated then put an arm around his shoulders and bumped his forehead into his. When they were little they'd often cheered each other up this way, bumping heads harder and harder until one of them inevitably yelped in pain which always made them laugh. Sometimes when things were really bad it gave them an excuse to cry as if the world were ending.

     After a few moments Carver pulled back, then knocked into him, his shoulder jabbing painfully into his arm. "I miss her."

     "Me too." 


	4. The Oldest Profession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tend to update tags as I go so for anyone who isn't checking those but wants a heads up, there's some implied/referenced non-con in both this chapter and future ones.

_They surround him in silence, moving as one. There are no glances between them, because they are all certain that they are of the same mind._

_They form a shield around him._

_"You are not welcome here," Ahriwa says._

_Danarius scowls. He is a whole head taller than her, which is why Fenris can see his expression, because if Ahriwa was taller then she would be nose to nose with Danarius._

_"Out of my way, foolish girl! Hand over my slave and I might let you live."_

_"You do not own him."_

_"How little you know." Danarius locks eyes with him. "Kill them."_

_Fenris looks into those cold grey eyes and his mind falls silent. There is no need to think. There is no need to answer questions about himself that he has never thought to ask. The inner turmoil that has plagued him ever since he'd been found by the Fog Warriors leaves him in an instant. He is returned to the his rightful place in this world, to the only place that he has known._

_"I am yours."_

_They do not expect it. Their backs are to him, eyes and focus on his Master. He rips them apart. It's easy. He gets to her last. She has the time to turn to face him before he pins her to the ground. His hands are slippery as he struggles to twist the knife out of her hand. Blood drips from him spattering across her face, bright against the milky paints that cover her skin. One of her hands closes around his throat, jagged nails digging into it. They make eye contact. He expects to see the challenging sneer he's seen every time they've dueled, but finds only terror._

_"Plea-"_

_He crushes the word within her throat and it's like crushing his own heart. He trembles and rises to face Danarius. "I am not your-"_

_"Quiet!" Danarius shouts, pulling off his cloak. He is taller and younger than Fenris remembers."Do you want the guards to come running? Wipe your face and put this on."_

_He obeys._

Fenris startled awake, his heart pounding. He wiped the sweat from his face and crawled out from under the fraying blanked he'd found on his first night in the mansion. It was just about the only thing of use left in the entire place beyond a couple pieces of furniture and the wine in the cellar. Soon he'd need something warmer. He stretched, forcing the tension from his limbs and went toward the grimy windows. He settled in on the widow ledge, face pressed against the cool glass and waited for his heartbeat to slow.

He liked the quiet of the mornings in Hightown. From the mansion he could watch servants starting their daily tasks with the unique pleasure of knowing that he could spend his day exactly as he pleased. Even if that meant starting out the window, not doing much of anything. It wasn't safe here. Nowhere would be safe as long as Danarius lived. But it was quiet, almost peaceful. Sometimes that felt almost like safety.

It didn't take long for his body to calm. He'd gotten better. Once, a nightmare might have put him out of sorts for most of the day. Now, he could usually push it out of his mind. He pulled an apple out of the crate he kept nearby. He bit into it, savoring the crunch followed by a burst of juice. One night he'd stumbled into an orchard and taken a chance on the strange fruit. Gorging himself on apples until his stomach ached was his fondest memory of coming to the South. When Hawke had come by the mansions and given him his share of profits from the sale of the elfroot, he'd gone to the market and bought a basketful. That Hawke had come back at all had surprised him. He'd shown up only a day after their trip to the Storm Coast with a silver and news that Carver had left for the Deep Roads. He'd been disappointed at the time, but maybe it was for the best. Going to the Deep Roads would have been nothing more than a brief reprieve.

Sooner or later Danarius would come for him and when he did Fenris would kill him, or he would die trying. He wouldn't allow himself to be taken alive. He'd lied to Hawke. Danarius didn't want him for the lyrium. If he so desired Danarius could purchase twice the amount he'd burned into his flesh and still be absurdly wealthy. He wanted him, because it was personal. Because Fenris had dared to escape, dared to imagine that he could be someone, anyone but his slave. Danarius wouldn't kill him, not right away. The dead couldn't suffer.

Fenris licked traces of stickiness from his fingers. Much as he might prefer to sit here and watch others go about their tasks for the rest of the day, he didn't have the luxury. He'd run out of coin soon, even though he'd been careful to spend as little as he could.

It didn't take him long to put on his armor and make his way to the market. The merchants were still setting up their stalls, preparing for a long day of haggling. He made his way to the blades merchant.

The dwarf glanced at his armor and great-sword. "A new blade for you? A whetstone?"

"Neither," Fenris said. "I want to work for you. As a guard."

"You blind, knife-ear?" The dwarf slapped his palm against the emblem painted onto his stall. "I'm with the Merchants' Guild. The Dwarven Merchants' Guild. Do you think we can't take care of our own?"

"You won't find a better guard."

The dwarf laughed. "Go back to your Alienage. We don't need your kind here."

Fenris clenched his fists and forced himself to turn away without another word. Arguing with this fool would be a waste of time. He should have known better than to seek work here, where every passerby sneered at him. Perhaps he'd find someone in Lowtown in need of protection and with coin to spare.

"You there. Elf. You're looking for work?"

He turned toward the man who'd called him. He recognized him too. He sold armor far too large for Fenris to give it more than a passing glance.

     "Yes."

The man waved him over. "Athenril might take a chance on one of her kind."

"Who is she?"

"She gives the Coterie a run for their money. Keeps them from crushing the life out of honest folk trying to make a living."

He'd heard of the Coterie. If this woman competed with them then she had to be a criminal. It wasn't ideal. He didn't want to draw the attention of the guard. But honest work was in short supply in Kirkwall, or so it seemed. Besides, he'd done his share of stealing while on the run. As long as she didn't work with slavers they might be able to come to an agreement.

"Where can I find her?"

"Around. She drinks at the Blooming Rose some nights." The man looked him over and snickered. "If she doesn't want you, Madam Lusine might."

"Thank you." He walked away before the man could say anything further. He didn't understand the joke and he wasn't sure he wanted to. The Blooming Rose. He'd never heard of the place, but if people drank there then it had to be a tavern. And if a man who worked in Hightown knew of it then it wouldn't be anything like the Hanged Man. It would be nicer. Probably in Hightown itself. Even the rich needed a place to drink, he supposed. He searched the streets methodically, ignoring the stares that followed him wherever he went.

He found it by the sign, an obvious enough painting of a rose bud. It was a strange marker for a tavern, but then the South was a strange place. He tried the door expecting to find it shut, it was early in the day for drinking even for Kirkwall, but it swung opened. The hinges didn't creak. That was a sign of wealth, he'd learned. In Lowtown all the doors creaked and groaned as if intent on telling tales of everything they'd witnessed.

It wasn't anything like the Hanged Man inside. The spacious room looked more like a sitting room than a tavern. Rugs covered the spotless floors in strategic locations. The walls were covered not in years of grime, but paintings of roses and swords. Red curtains hung around a few of the tables, at the ready to be pulled around them for privacy. That was another thing he'd learned. In Kirkwall, only the wealthy could afford privacy.

"Can I help you?" A grey haired woman approached him, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"I'm looking for Athenril."

"She's not here." She crossed her arms. "And before you ask, no I don't know if she'll be here or if she's ever been here at all. The Blooming Rose values the privacy of its customers."

Nothing was ever simple. "And what about Madam Lusine?"

"You're looking at her."

At last, a bit of luck. "I heard you might be looking to hire someone."

Lusine raised an eyebrow. "Did you now?" She looked him up and down. "Well, you've got the looks I suppose. But do you have the skill?"

"I promise you, the sword isn't just for show."

Lusine snorted. "How droll. Very well. I'll give you a chance. But I don't hire just anyone off the street. I've got a reputation to uphold. You'll have to prove yourself. Come back in a few hours. And no need to bring that sword. Let's see how you do without the props first, eh?"

***

He didn't like leaving his sword behind, but he couldn't argue with Lucine's point. A guard at a tavern needed more subtle tactics in his arsenal. A sword wouldn't be of much use if he needed to end a drunken brawl without fuss. Besides, his lyrium brands would serve him well enough in case he ran into any kind of trouble. He pushed away the anxiety swirling at the edges of his mind. There was nothing to worry about.

This time, he found Madame Lucine behind the bar. "Good you're here. Come on then. I'll introduce you to Jethann."

Fenris followed her through the sitting room and up the staircase past rows of doors. Odd, that such a place would have so many rooms for rent. Perhaps Kirkwall saw more wealthy visitors seeking a place to stay than he'd thought.

Lucine came to a stop in front of one of them and knocked. "Jethann, are you decent?"

"Decent?" An elf with striking blue eyes opened the door. "You wound me, Lucine. I am many things, but decent? Never."

"This is..." Lucine paused. "What's your name again?"

"Fenris."

Jethann clicked his tongue. "How exotic. Alright, come on in and let's see what you've got."

"Bring him around to Idunna's when you're done. I want her thoughts."

     "As you wish." Jethann ushered him into the room and closed the door behind him.

Fenris looked around the place. It wasn't a guard's office for sure. In fact, the item of most prominence in the room was an enormous bed. What kind of test was this? Was Jethann a customer in need of a guard? That might make sense. An elf with the money to stay in a room like this would have many enemies.

Jethann yawned enormously and waved a hand at an armchair in the corner. "Forgive me. Long night. But you know what they say. Why work if you're not working _hard_?"

He took a seat and nodded.

For some reason Jethann looked visibly disappointed by his response. "Not much of a talker then? I'll be honest with you, that's going to be a problem here. You'll get by with the cheap ones. But the ones who really pay expect more out of your mouth than a blowjob. They'll talk your ear off if you don't find a way to shut them up."

Fenris froze, sure that he'd misunderstood.

"Nervous?" Jethann gave him a sympathetic look and sighed. "You don't have much experience, do you?"

His throat felt dry. "With what?"

"Pleasuring others for coin."

He didn't realize he'd stood up until he heard the clatter of the chair behind him. Jethann took a step back. Fenris rushed out of the room, past the corridor of rooms whose purpose had suddenly become clear, down the staircase that seemed endless, past the sitting room that made his skin crawl, and out into the street.

The familiar sting of his markings coming to life spread over him. The Blooming Rose. How had he not seen it? It wasn't a tavern. It was a... Slavery or not, the flesh was always for sale. Had the man in the market known? Had he somehow sensed that Danarius... No, that was impossible. Just a coincidence then. How many coincidences would it take before it wasn't coincidence anymore? Before he'd have to reconsider if it wasn't something about him...No.

The streets blurred as he hurried through them without aim. It didn't matter where he went as long as he kept moving. By the time he stopped his legs ached from the brisk pace he'd set. He needed a different distraction. Something, anything, to keep his thoughts in the present. A strong drink. A brawl. Maybe both. The Hanged Man called to him with open arms of cheap alcohol and noise.

He made his way inside, strangely comforted by the protesting groan of the door when he pushed it open with far more force than necessary. Without preamble he dropped all the coin he had left onto the bar and pushed it toward Corff.

"Give me the strongest you've got."

Corff grunted and handed him a bottle of clear liquid. "Don't drink it all in one sitting."

Fenris went toward his favorite corner. The one where the light from the fireplace barely reached. It was dim and he could have his back to the wall and eyes on the door. But when he reached the spot he saw that it was already taken. Resigned to a night just as miserable as his day, he looked around, searching for another suitable place to sit.

"Fenris?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments!


	5. The Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... months later an update. For anyone who stuck around this long. Thank you and apologies! Life had plans of its own.

               Hawke turned the envelope over for at least the sixth time. Smudges of dirt covered it on both sides and its corners were bent, but he could make out that it had been addressed to Carver by someone with lovely penmanship. Mother had insisted that they set it aside until his return from the Deep Roads, as if opening it might mean entertaining the idea that he'd never return to open it himself. A small superstitious part of him felt that way too, but the practical side of him knew the letter might be important. What if it was from someone back home who needed help? After all, it must have cost the sender a lot of coin and effort to get a letter all the way to Kirkwall.

               He looked at empty bed on the other side of the tiny room, sheets pulled tight and tucked in neatly. It was the first thing he'd noticed about Carver after his return from Ostagar. The messy brother he'd grown up with now insisted on order and neatness, as if the chaos and uncertainty in their lives could be banished through a well-designed system of organizing belongings. With a final guilty glance toward the curtain that turned the tiny space into a room he tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside.

_My darling Carver,_

_I miss you so much! When are you coming back to Ferelden? The Blight is over and the darkspawn are gone! There's nothing to be afraid of... not that you'd ever be afraid, bravest-man-I've-ever-known!_

_We're not going back to Lothering. I hear the land is poisoned or something. Father is raising money for a new farm in the Bannorn. I don't know when that'll happen, but he's working very hard. We're living with my aunt in Denerim, so please send your letters there._

_Why haven't you been writing, Carver? Did you find another girl in the Free Marches? Remember: no girl will ever do what I did for you behind Barlin's shed that time. You just think about that!_

_Write me soon! I love you!_

_Peaches_

               Hawke groaned. This was what he got for trying to be helpful. If ever there'd been a sign that he should stay far away from being a hero this was it. He shoved the letter back in its envelope along with any thoughts of his brother behind a shed, or behind anywhere, doing anything with anyone. For a moment, he considered throwing the thing in the fire, but then he put it under Carver's pillow instead. It would be there waiting for him when he returned. Hopefully, he'd have the good sense not to mention that it had been opened.

               He couldn't help a small pang of envy. No one from back home would write a letter like that to him. There'd been boys in some of the many villages they'd lived in, of course. Then when he was older, a merchant who'd passed through Lothering often, well-traveled and funny. They'd talked about Hawke joining him on his travels, of meeting each other’s families, and growing old together. Deep down they'd know these were nothing but pleasant words with which to fill the silence. Or maybe he'd been the only one to know. He'd never found the courage to admit to him that he was an apostate. They'd ended things before the first rumors of darkspawn reached Lothering.

               He shook his head and pulled on his boots. This was no time for reminiscing about old lovers. There were things that needed doing. Important things. Like getting to the bottom of what exactly had happened to the Amell estate. Mother had been going on and on about that. Maybe if he found out that much, it would give her a measure of peace or at least give her a fresh topic for her arguments with Gamlen. Under normal circumstances he would have asked Varric, but seeing as the dwarf wasn't available he'd have to make do with someone less subtle.

 

***

               The Hanged Man was packed with people he didn't recognize, which most likely meant that a ship had come into the harbor. By the swaying stances of some of the sailors he guessed more than a few of them would be sleeping in tomorrow, which meant that odds were good there'd be work for him at the docks or one of the warehouses. They'd need extra hands around to help load and unload cargo.

               He found his mark easily, sitting in his favorite corner of the room. It was the perfect place to have a bit of privacy and to keep an eye on the whole place. That templars were unheard of at The Hanged Man, didn't mean that they wouldn't show up one day.

               "Isabella! My dusky goddess." He dropped into the seat next to her.

               She sighed. "You'll never get tired of that one, will you?"

               "Probably not," Hawke laughed. He figured that if he spent a couple more months at her side he'd have a collection of bad pickup lines big enough to wallpaper Gamlen's apartment, twice over. "I've got a question for you."

               "Is it naughty?"

               "That depends. Do you find property ownership kinky?"

               "Well, there was that one night with the desire demon statue..."

               Hawke considered asking for an explanation then thought better of it. "I need to know who owns the old Amell estate. Think you can ask around?"

               "Hawke," she took a gulp from her tankard. "Has anyone ever told you that you can be a real lady boner killer?"

               "Er... no... I can't say that they have. No."

               "Normally, this is the part where I'd offer to be your first. You know, like a dirty joke? But I can't." She sighed dramatically. "That's how much of lady boner killer you can be."

               Hawke waved over a waitress and ordered a drink. "So that's a yes? You're going to ask around?"

               "No, Hawke." She watched the waitress walk away. "I'm not going to _ask around_ , because everyone knows about the old Amell estate. It's the worst kept secret in the city. So, the real question is, why are you asking about it?"

               "It's my family's estate. Or it used to be before my uncle sold it. My mother's an Amell."

               Isabella cackled. "You're a noble?"

               "So they tell me."

               The waitress returned with a tankard of predictably watery mead. Of all the horrible things the Hanged Man served it was the least horrible thing he'd found on the menu. She set it down in front of him and walked away, glancing back to give Isabella a shy smile.

               Isabella raised an eyebrow at him. "Did you see that?"

               "Focus," Hawke said. "The estate?"

               "Oh that. It's a slave highway. The biggest one in these parts."

               "What? But- Slavery's illegal!" It burst out of him before he could consider the absurdity of his argument. It wasn't as if the small matter of laws stopped anyone in Kirkwall from all kinds of crimes or as if the guards investigated any of them thoroughly. He could complain, but he supposed it was that same indifference which kept him and other apostates relatively safe from templars. As long as they didn't piss off anyone with real power or draw attention to themselves no one bothered to investigate the goings on of Lowtown.

               "Illegal? Yes. Profitable? Very."

               "That's-" His mind whirred. There were so many refugees in the city. People desperate for passage to other places and for work. It wouldn't be difficult to lure them into a trap. They could go missing without anyone noticing or caring. Their unexplained disappearance wouldn't even raise an eyebrow. His gut twisted. Fenris lived in Hightown, not far from the old Amell estate. "We have to stop them."

               "And how exactly do you intend to do that? Take it from someone who's got a couple people eager to stick a knife in her back over a hold of living cargo that never reached its destination, you don't want to mess with slavers."

               "We have to figure out something."

               "Don't take this the wrong way Garrett, but you should leave the hero crap to Carver. I'm sure he'll be back in no time and happy to clear them out of the place. Restore your family legacy and all that."

               He scowled and took a sip of his drink. Ever since he'd arrived in Kirkwall it was all he'd heard from anyone. _Let Carver take care of it._ Pride and annoyance warred within him every time. If only Father had lived to hear it.

"This isn't about a legacy. Besides, what makes you think he's the one to handle this?"

               "He's better with a sword for one."

               "And what good is a sword going to do here?" Hawke shook his head. "That's not gonna change a damned thing and you know it. They'll just find another place. Someone's getting paid to look the other way."

               Isabella shook her head. "Someone's always getting paid to look the other way. It's the way of the world. I'm telling you Hawke, this is a bad idea. Leave it alone. You'll get yourself killed, or worse."

               "If we don't-"

               Someone came up to the table then reeled away just as quickly, but not before he caught sight of unmistakable pale markings.

               "Fenris?"

               The elf turned back to look at him. The last time they'd seen each other was when he'd stopped by to give Fenris his share from the sale of the elfroot and to let him know that Carver had already left for the Deep Roads. He'd gotten little more than an apathetic 'thank you' and a door closed in his face. He'd thought of stopping by again to check on him, but he hadn't managed to come up with an excuse to visit.

               He waved at the chair across from him. "Care to join us?

               Fenris hesitated, glanced at the open seat, then back at the door.

               “Come on,” Hawke said. “Meet Isabella. I promise she doesn’t bite.”

               “Not unless you want me to.” Isabella grinned.

               Fenris set the bottle in his hand down on the table and sat down. “Thank you. It’s crowded tonight.”

               Hawke squinted at the label. It was the Hanged Man's moonshine. Cheap, disgusting, and possibly dangerous in large quantities.

               "Bad day?"

               "Hrm."

               "Hawke, you've been holding out on me." Isabella accused. "How long were you going to wait to introduce me to your gorgeous broody friend?"

               "You're meeting him now," Hawke waved a hand between them. "Fenris. Isabella. Isabella. Fenris."

               Isabella took a sip of her drink. "You know, I enjoy a man with markings like that."

               Hawke groaned. “Don’t mind her. She’s incorrigible.”

               “You’re just jealous. I don’t know why. You work by the docks sometimes, don’t you? Could find yourself a sailor… or two. Fair warning though, the markings are gonna be different. Lots more breasts.”

               Hawke rolled his eyes and took a sip of his mead. A night with Isabella wasn't complete without a mention of sailors and breasts.

               "I suppose a pair of lyrium breasts tattooed on my chest would make things better."

               For the second time when meeting Fenris at the Hanged Man, Hawke found himself in an uncontrollable fit of coughing. He took another gulp to calm himself. If they were gambling he would have bet all his coin that Fenris looked pleased with himself.

               Isabella slapped a deck of cards on the table. Hawke didn’t allow himself to wonder where she’d been keeping it considering her outfit didn’t have any pockets. “This calls for a game of Wicked Grace.”

               “I don’t have coin on me,” Fenris mumbled.

               “I’ll accept liquid payment.” She tapped the bottle of moonshine. “What do you say?”

               “Alright…”

               Hawke searched his pockets and came up with a measly couple of coppers which he dropped on the table to join Isabella’s silver. _Let the gambling begin._


	6. Fear’s Bond

               It was a fun night. _Fun._ He couldn't remember the last time he'd had fun. He was a foreigner in a strange land where people sat around a table laughing over a game of cards. Yet no one questioned his place. If Hawke or Isabella noticed that he played his cards without a grasp of the game's rules or making much contribution to their banter, they didn't mention it.

               "And then Alistair-"

               Hawke cut in. "You're telling me you slept with Alistair. _King_ Alistair. And the Warden. _The_ Warden. The current Queen?"

               "Slept? The headboard in my cabin never recovered." Isabella leaned back in her chair and sighed wistfully. "Maker, I miss her."

               "The Warden?"

               "My ship, you idiot." She threw her cards on the table with a grin. "Now pay up."

               "Ha! Not so fast." Hawke stood up and walked around the table to peer over his shoulder. Before Fenris could think to react, Hawke plucked a card out of his hand and replaced it with one of his own. Then he gently nudged Fenris’s wrist down so that his hand was revealed to Isabella. “Beat this!”

               He'd expected Hawke's hands to be soft. A mage's hands, unaccustomed to physical work of any kind. But they were rough and calloused, he'd felt it even in the brief touch. They might have been more damaged than his own.

               Isabela laughed. "That's cheating!"

               "I prefer to think of it as a liberal interpretation of the rules."

               "Oh I see how it is," she said. "The two of you are ganging up on me."

               Hawke grinned. "Not all of us have enough cleavage to hide two extra cards."

               Fenris listened to them quipping back and forth. It filled him with a strange warmth. It wasn't until he'd met the Fog Warriors that he'd realized that the strange hollow feeling that overwhelmed him sometimes was loneliness. On the rare occasions when Danarius gave him free time he’d sneak into the kitchens or out into the courtyard where the other slaves worked. They never treated him as one of them. They didn’t trust him. Conversations fell into silence around him. Not that he could blame them. He was the Master’s favorite. They suspected him of spying. And they were right. If he’d heard anything of importance he would have reported it to Danarius without a second thought. The Fog Warriors, on the other hand had never treated him as an outsider even if he’d been as different from them as could be imagined. _For all the good it did them._

               "Hey, you okay?"

               Fenris looked up and realized that Isabella was gone from the table, as was the bottle he’d lost despite Hawke’s creative game strategy. "I'm fine. Where’s Isabella?"

               “Talking to the waitress she’s been eyeing all night. Knowing her, she won’t be back tonight.”

               He nodded. It still surprised him. The nonchalance with which everyone here treated people of the same genders hopping into bed together. Danarius had once ruined the career of another Magister by starting a rumor about his fondness for another man. As a slave, he’d never questioned it. It seemed absurd now. There was far more wrong with Tevinter than the power and influence of mages.

               “Copper for your thoughts?”

               “Have you heard of Athenril?”

               If the change of topic surprised him, Hawke gave no indication. “Sure. I used to work for her.”

               In an alternate reality he might have whooped with joy. “Do you think she’d hire me?”

               “She might…” Hawke chewed on his lip.

               “I tried to find her today.”

               “She can be hard to find.”

               “Introduce me to her.” It occurred to him that it would’ve been better to ask rather than demand, but there was no taking it back now. He needed this. He couldn’t work at the Blooming Rose. It would… he couldn’t.

               “Look, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

               “I’ll pay you. My whole first pay day. Two. Two pay days.” He knew he sounded unhinged, probably looked it too, but he couldn’t care less. This might be his only chance.

               “It’s not about the coin.” Hawke gave him an alarmed look. “We’re friends, Fenris. You don’t have to pay me.”

               _Friends._ They hardly knew each other and yet Hawke had called him a friend as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It was ridiculous. He could never be friends with a mage.

               “When I said I worked for Athenril, I skipped over the part where my brother and I were indentured to her. She loaned us the money we needed to get into Kirkwall. She’s a smuggler. Of lyrium and who knows what else. Agreeing to work for her isn’t the sort of thing you do on a whim. She doesn’t like it when people quit.”

               Fenris laughed mirthlessly. The man had seen him plunge his hand through a slaver's chest and tried to deter him with smuggling.  It was almost charming. "Hawke, I'm an elf in a city teeming with refugees. Do you imagine people are lining up to hire me?"

               Hawke grunted and drained the rest of his drink. “I get it. This place is a shithole. But there’s better options.”

               “Such as?”

“The docks. There’s a warehouse owner I work for sometimes. I help him move around cargo. It’s not glamorous and the pay isn’t great. But you can walk away and never come back if you want to. Want to give it a try?”

               Fenris hesitated. He hated the docks. They stank of fish and the crowds and chaos made him nervous. It wouldn’t be hard for someone to sneak up on him there. But it wasn’t as if he had a lot of other options. Besides it might be nice to try an honest trade for once. At the very least, it would buy him some time to convince Hawke to make an introduction or to find someone who would. “Fine.”

               “Great.” Hawke smiled. “In that case we should get some sleep. We have to be there early. Come on. I’ll walk you back through Lowtown.”

               "There's no need for that."

               "I'd be a boring world if we only did the things there's a need for, don't you think?"               

               He wondered if the sparkle in Hawke’s eyes was natural or a manifestation of his magic. "Very well."

               They walked through the streets in a silence that felt companionable. He almost laughed aloud. That he should find himself comforted by the presence of a mage. It was ridiculous and dangerous. Letting your guard down around strangers was a sure way to get yourself killed.

               “Shit.” Hawke ducked into the shadows of a nearby alley.

               There were men in armor standing on a rickety staircase up ahead. Light spilled out from the open door illuminating the emblems on their shields. Templars. He followed Hawke into the darkness.

               “Shit,” Hawke repeated. “That’s my Uncle’s house. Someone must have tipped them off.”

               If only templars were as vigilant in Tevinter. He knew that the right thing to do would be to turn him in. Everyone would be safer that way. Hawke included. At the Circle they'd keep him away from the temptation of blood magic. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

               Hawke looked up at him, crouched behind a stack of rotting crates. Even in the stale darkness of the alley he could recognize the panic his words caused. He knew that expression. He’d worn that expression. He even knew the feeling that came with it. _Blood rushing in his ears with a deafening roar. Muscles so stiff they feel as if they’re trembling. Cornered. Captured. No place left to run. Slavers blocking every path._

“Come on.” It came out rougher than he intended. He offered his hand. “Let’s get you out of here before they notice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thanks for the kudos!


	7. Cures and Hugs

               Hawke followed Fenris through the winding alleyways. Sweat drenched him from head to toe. Every few steps he glanced back torn between praying the templars weren’t following him and hoping that they were. He could go back. Distract them from interrogating his family. Turn himself in. For once, he hoped Gamlen was home. He’d tell the templars everything they wanted to know. His mother on the other hand would refuse to cooperate, no matter the threats or rewards they might offer. They didn’t have much in the way of personal possessions that could be destroyed. That left limbs. He stumbled.

               Fenris caught him by the elbow. “Careful.”

               “I-Thanks.” He looked around. They were climbing a never ending staircase. “Where are we going?”

               “The mansion.”

               “Your mansion?”

               “It is not _my_ mansion.”

               He didn’t have the energy to think more about that. He’d never been in Hightown so late. The streets were empty. It was different than Lowtown. There weren’t any people standing around in the alleyways smoking or sleeping in the dark corners of the streets. No drunks stumbled home in the dark. Nothing moved, like a village abandoned in face of the Blight. Fenris pushed open to door to the mansion.

               “You don’t lock the door?” Hawke asked.             

               “A lock is useless defense against Danarius.”

               “But what about the guards?” _Or slavers._ Now wasn’t the right time to start that conversation, but at some point he’d have to figure out a way to warn Fenris without encouraging him to do something stupid like trying to take on a slave den by himself.

               “They knock before coming in.” Fenris led him past the corpses, up the grand staircase, and into the sitting room. “I can’t offer you a bed. You can take the armchair or the floor.”

               “Thank you. This is more than enough.”

               “It's nothing.” Fenris walked out.

               Hawke settled into the armchair. For a piece of furniture that had survived a vicious magic fueled battle it wasn’t in bad shape. He looked at the single log in the fireplace, with a spell he could stay warm the whole night. Instead he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. It didn’t feel right to use magic here without permission, no matter what Fenris might say about the mansion not being his home.

***

               _Hawke huddled in the back of the wagon under the quilt Mother made for his tenth birthday just a couple weeks ago. The wagon smelled of the apples they’d carted to market yesterday. He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His throat burned with swallowed tears._

_“Hey, kiddo.” Father slid down the bench to sit next to him. “You cold?”_

_He shook his head._

_“We should talk about what happened. I don’t want you to blame yourself.”_

_“I shouldn’t have told him.” Even though they’d been best friends for three years he should have known to never trust anyone else with their secret._

_Father pulled the quilt tighter around him. “It’s natural to want to tell the people you care about. But you have to be careful. You should test the waters first. See what they think about mages. Maybe tell them a story about templars taking someone to a Circle. See how they respond. And you need to tell me or your mother. We need to have a plan to escape. Just in case.”_

_Hawke rubbed the bridge of his nose and nodded. Inside he could feel the ever present frantic buzz of energy at his core, like a swarm of tireless insects burrowing their way deeper and deeper into his body against his will. The same energy that he could manipulate to light a candle or heal a cut._

_“Are you a good mage?”_

_Father closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wagon wall. “How do you mean?”_

_“Do you know about all the spells?”_

_“No mage knows about all spells. But I do know many.”_

_“Teach me.” Hawke startled himself with the venom in his voice. “Teach me a spell to stop being a mage.”_

_***_

               Hawke stretched his stiff limbs. There weren’t any windows in the room so it was impossible to guess the time of day or night. He walked out into the main hallway and squinted up at the sliver of light filtering in through the tiny windows by the ceiling. By his guess it was early morning. Only someone rich and with no intention of enjoying the comforts of their own home would build a mansion of this size and neglect to put in a big window or two. It made the whole place foreboding. Then again, maybe it suited a man like Danarius.

               The corpses were still at the bottom of the staircase. He shuddered. Everything looked exactly the same as it had the last time he’d been here. He was fairly certain it all looked exactly the same as it had when Fenris had first moved in, down to the dust covered banisters.

               “You’re an early riser.”

               Hawke tried his best not to look as if he’d almost jumped out of his skin. “Not really. Just couldn’t sleep.”

               Fenris came over to his side. The grey morning light made him pale and tired. Either that, or he hadn’t slept much either. “What are you going to do?”

               The smart thing would be to run. His father had kept them safe that way for many years, but he hadn’t expected another Blight. There weren’t many places left to run to and they couldn’t run away while Carver was in the Deep Roads. They might never find each other again. Besides, he didn’t think Mother had it in her. She’d been on the run ever since she’d run away from Kirkwall and now finally she was back. She deserved a place she could call home. Even if home was a one room hovel with Gamlen for company. The other option was for him to run, alone.

               “I have to check on my mother. I need to make sure she’s okay.”

               “Is she also a mage?”

               “No. Why?”

               “Then why are you concerned?”

               He wasn’t sure he had the strength or time to explain it all. “Fenris, how do you think they find mages?”

               “I presume it is a significant part of their training.”

               “No.” Hawke sighed. “I mean- Imagine Carver answered that door. What do you think they’d have to do before he told them where to find me? When they take you to a Circle they’re tearing you from-“ He stopped. If he didn’t he’d end up sounding like Anders raving about his manifesto. “I need to check on her. Then we can meet by the docks.”

               “Meet?”

               “I promised you that I’d introduce you to the warehouse owner. It’s the least I can do.”

               “I’ll go with you.”

               “That’s really not-“

               “They might be watching the house,” Fenris pointed out. “I can help you. You can’t introduce me to anyone if you’re captured.”

***

               Hawke watched Fenris climb the rickety staircase and tried not to look suspicious lurking in the corner of the building. Fortunately, lurking was a common past time in Lowtown. He watched him knock on the door and stand there. The door opened. His heart pounded as he waited for something to happen, he wasn’t sure what. Mother appeared on the front step. He watched Fenris peak over her shoulder and say something then scratch the top of his head.

               At this signal, he made his way towards the house and bounded up the staircase half expecting templars to leap out from the shadows or the barrels around the corner. Mother’s eyes widened, she grabbed his arm and yanked him inside. Fenris hoovered by the door shifting from foot to foot until Hawke waved him in and closed the door behind him.

               “Mother, this is Fenris. He saved me last night.”

               In retrospect he should have known it was a mistake. Mother launched herself at Fenris with the eagerness of an attention deprived Mabari. She embraced him. Or it would have been an embrace if it wasn’t for the fact that Fenris froze so completely that he resembled a statue at risk of being tipped over.

               “Mother, let him go!” He peeled her away equal parts amused and horrified. At least the whole thing hadn’t ended with another hand around a throat situation.

               “Thank you. You’ve no idea- If the templars- Thank you.”

               “It’s nothing.” Fenris choked out, still frozen to the same spot. “Really.”

               “I’ll make breakfast.”

               “We don’t really have time for breakfast...” Hawke protested weakly. It was a ritual of sorts. Every time they’d had to run away from templars Mother cooked a fancy breakfast as soon as they could find a safe place to stop. It had been their way of celebrating and returning to normalcy. Although he couldn’t quite claim that they’d escaped this time.

               He turned to Fenris with a resigned shrug. “Come on. She won’t let this go until we eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and patience with updates!


	8. Never the Wine

               Fenris sat down next to Hawke trying to balance good posture with looking comfortable. He wasn’t used to eating at a table. Sometimes when he could spare the coin, he had a bowl of stew at the Hanged Man. People didn’t pay attention to your posture or table manners there. After failing to return the hug Hawke's mother had sprung on him, he was determined to act normal. Or as normal as an elf covered in lyrium tattoos could be while sitting at a kitchen table in a Kirkwall home. It wasn't every day that someone credited him with saving a life and invited him to breakfast. The least he could do was to try his best to be polite. He imitated Hawke and placed his hands on the worn table. The chair wobbled a bit.

               It wasn’t the type of place where he’d expect a mage to live. There weren’t any signs of wealth or the magical conveniences that filled the home of even the lowliest of mages in Tevinter. Two sets of curtains split up what he guessed was the only room. It was dark and dank, but if it wasn’t for the proximity of neighbors he would have preferred it to the mansion. It felt like the kind of place where you could sleep without nightmares. He watched Hawke’s mother chop an apple in between stirring a pot of porridge.

               “They’re not going to come back. They don’t know a thing. It was just a routine patrol. I know all about their scare tactics. They won’t work on me.”

               “Mother, I can’t stay here. It’s not safe for any of us. What if they catch me here the next time they’re on a patrol? They’ll know you lied to them.”

               “We could leave.” She spooned the porridge into two bowls. “Gamlen could tell Carver where to find us.”

               Hawke shook his head. “Absolutely not. We’re not running. I’ll figure something out. Find another place to stay.”

               “Another place?” She tossed apple chunks into both bowls. “What other place?”

               “It’s better if you don’t know.”

               She set the bowls in front of them rather forcefully.

               “Thank you, Lady Hawke.” He willed his heart to slow its pounding. This wasn’t Tevinter where the loud clatter of dishes never boded well. Nothing about the disagreement indicated it might lead to violence.

               She smiled at him. “No need for all that fuss. You can call me Leandra. Do you want sugar with your porridge?”

               “I’m fine.”

               Leandra pulled a tiny ceramic pot with a lid out of one of the cupboards and set it in front of him. “It’s here if you change your mind.”

               He took a small spoonful of the porridge making sure to take a piece of apple with it. Normally he ate fruit or a bit of bread for breakfast. The contrast of the cold crunchy apples with the warm lumpy porridge was strange, but after a few more bites he decided he liked it.

               “So, how did the two of you meet?”

               “At the bar.” Hawke sprinkled sugar over his porridge innocently.

               Leandra sat down at the table with them. “In that case, I may have to reconsider my opinion of Lowtown bars. You know, when I was just a lass, people got attacked going to places like the Hanged Man.”

               “You don’t say.”

               Fenris ducked his head down and focused on his porridge. He wasn’t sure why Hawke had chosen not to reveal the details of their meeting, but he was grateful. He hadn’t done much to deserve Leandra’s good opinion. What would she do if she found out that he’d spent half the night pacing and weighing turning Hawke in to the templars? He would have done it. If it wasn’t for that look. The damned look Hawke had given him cowering in the shadows by those barrels. Every time he’d gotten to the door determined to sneak out in search of a templar, he remembered it and went back to his window seat to reconsider.

               “Are you sure you don’t want any sugar?” Leandra asked. “Can I make you some tea?”

               “Mother, we don’t have time for tea.” Hawke shoveled porridge into his mouth with impressive speed. “We’ve got places to be.”

               “Don’t speak with food in your mouth,” Leandra scolded. She turned to Fenris with an apologetic look. “I really did do the best I could with him. I’m sorry that he’s got all the manners of someone raised by a pack of wolves.”

               “He’s not so bad.”

               Leandra smiled slightly.

               “Ha! Hear that?”

               “Hardly a glowing assessment.”

               Maker, had he just… was he unintentionally flirting with Hawke? He watched more than listened as Leandra and Hawke continued their bickering. Ever since he’d met Hawke he’d found himself doing all kinds of unexpected things. When the Fog Warriors found him and discovered that he'd been a slave they encouraged him to try one new thing a day. They’d wanted to encourage his freedom, not that he’d understood it at the time. Since running away he hadn’t had much time to think about such things. It seemed that with Hawke around he’d make up for it in no time.

               “We have to be off. I’ll be back later for a couple things. We can talk more then.”

               Fenris finished the last bite of his porridge. “Thank you for breakfast. It was wonderful. Where can I clean-”

               Leandra whisked the bowl away from him before he could finish. “It’s nothing. You must come to dinner when I’ve had a chance to prepare. Garrett, why don’t you ever invite your friends to dinner?”

               “Mother,” Hawke groaned. “We’re in a rush.”

               “Oh very well then. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

               “I promise.”

***

               Wielding a sword, even one almost as large as himself, hadn’t prepared him for working in a warehouse. It wasn’t long before Fenris discovered a couple protesting muscles. At least he was well prepared for the monotony of it. Go over to a crate, pick it up, carry it over to the wagon, stack it, go over to the next crate, repeat. It was a mantra of sorts, equal parts exhausting and soothing.

               A few hours into the work he paused to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked around. Hawke had discarded his shirt. He stared as Hawke lifted yet another crate and loaded it onto the wagon. He’d noticed his broad shoulders on the night they’d first met. It had been why he’d gone directly for his throat when he’d first seen him put a hand on Carver at the Hanged Man. It didn’t do to underestimate a man with the build of a small qunari. After learning that he was a mage, he’d assumed that the loose clothes Hawke worse concealed the curves of a stomach accustomed to plenty of meals. Instead they hid bulging muscles. It was absurd. The man had arms twice the size of his own. His skin glistened with sweat as if he’d covered himself in ceremonial oils. He set the crate down and stretched, giving Fenris a view of a taut stomach.

               Their eyes met before he could look away. Hawke grinned at him.

               Fenris turned back to his stack of crates hoping it wasn’t obvious that he’d been gawking like a child entranced by a window display crowded with jars of candy.

               "Ready for a break?"      

               He straightened and fixed his eyes on Hawke’s face. “Shouldn’t we finish with these first?”

               “The crates will still be here in a few minutes. You gotta pace yourself. Come on. I want to show you something. I think you’ll like it.”

               He followed, the still shirtless Hawke, to the grimy alley behind the warehouse where a rope ladder hung from the roof of the building. Hawke scrambled up the ladder with the agility of a spider. Fenris climbed with more caution. He didn’t plan to die splattered in an alley, because a fraying rope gave out on him.

               “Hope you’re not afraid of heights.” Hawke looked down at him and offered a hand to help him up.

               Fenris let himself be pulled the rest of the way up. He didn’t really need the help, but he was curious to feel the strength he’d observed. Mages were weak. He’d seen that time and time again. Hawke’s hand wrapped around his, warm, calloused, and steady. It didn’t linger once he’d gotten his footing.

               The sun had warmed the roof. It seeped into him through the soles of his feet. The air smelled of salt. Below, people hurried about their daily tasks, splashing the grey cobblestone streets with color. Stall awnings formed hoovering paths of rippling cloth. The topography transformed before his eyes as sailors moved crates on the worn brown dock. Ships huddled in the harbor with furled sails, majestic beasts at rest. Past the forest of their masts he could see the looming cliffs from which the chain nets could be lowered to cut Kirkwall off from the world. And beyond that, just for a moment, before an arriving ship obscured his view, he could see the Waking Sea, stretching endlessly into the horizon.

               “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

               It was. He wondered if Varric had ever seen Kirkwall from up here. He would’ve had trouble with the ladder, but it would explain his infatuation with the city.

               “Is it true, what you told your mother, about moving?”

               Hawke sighed. “Yeah. I can’t risk staying there anymore.”

               “Where will you go?”

               “The clinic, while Anders is gone. He gave me the key so that I could look in on it while he’s gone. I don’t think he’d mind if stayed there in his absence.”

               That wouldn’t be safe from templars. The mage complained every chance he got about templars at his door. They might find Hawke instead. Somehow, the thought didn’t bring him the comfort it should have.

“The doors to the mansion aren’t locked.”

               Hawke turned to him with clear surprise. “Meaning?”

               “You have as much right as I do to squat there.”

               “Fenris, I’m shocked and scandalized.” Hawke grinned. “I haven’t even asked to court you yet and already you’re proposing we move in together.”

               _Yet?_ Did this mean that Hawke intended to ask to court him at some point in the future. _No._ It had to be a turn of phrase. Did people even court each other? Mostly people seemed to go off into the back rooms of the Hanged Man… or well Isabella did. He didn’t know anything about other peoples’ entanglements. He didn’t think Varric and his crossbow counted.

               “Don’t touch the wine.” He scowled to distract from the awkward pause his run away thoughts had created.

               Hawke solemnly placed a hand over his heart. “Never the wine.”


	9. A First Time for Everything

               As a child, Hawke had imagined what it would be like to live in a mansion. There’d be a room with good light for Bethany to paint. Father would have a study where he could stay up late reading and practicing spells. The kitchen would be huge and mother would continue cooking meals that more often than not tasted terrible. Best of all, he’d never have to share a room with Carver again. The reality of it wasn’t anything like that. True, he’d imagined the mansion of his mother’s childhood, not the abandoned property of a Tevinter magister, but calling it a disappointment was an understatement. The place was a dump. A dusty, grimy, falling apart dump. Say what you might about Gamlen’s home, at least it didn’t have any corpses in it.

               Accepting the offer from Fenris to stay in Hightown was impulsive and quite possibly unwise. They didn’t know each other well and neither one of them needed the attention that it might draw to them. But he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He knew from talking to Anders that the templars checked the clinic and he didn’t have the appetite for the dangers of evading their capture on a frequent basis. Instead he did his best to be as good a house guest as one could be to a host denying any claims to the house itself. He took a room downstairs in the far corner from the entrance, past the kitchen. It couldn’t be called cozy, but it was mostly undamaged by the battle that had taken place. It had taken him some time to scrub away the dust and dirt that had gathered over what might have been years of disuse. After that, he’d smuggled in his most essential belongings by night. It wasn’t much, but for now it would be home.

               By unspoken agreement, Hawke didn’t venture upstairs and Fenris didn’t wander downstairs. They broke this rule only under two circumstances. Sometimes Fenris came into the kitchens and opened the door directly next to his room to go into the wine cellar and sometimes, if he could see the bright glow of the fireplace, Hawke went upstairs to sit with him by the fireplace. At times they worked together at the warehouse, at other times days might pass when they didn’t see each other. All in all, it was a comfortable arrangement.

               Except for the matter of the slavers. With every day that passed it seemed that it was one day too late to bring up their presence. He told himself that he was doing the right thing. While he stayed at the mansion he could keep an eye on Fenris. If he told him about the slavers, Fenris might try to go after them by himself. It wasn’t a good excuse.

               Hawke tried to remember when he’d last seen Fenris as he made his way through the dimly lit streets. If the fireplace burned bright when he got home tonight, he would tell him. He’d hoped to have more information before sharing the news, but so far spending his nights hiding in the shadows of the former Amell estate wasn’t getting him any closer to a breakthrough. If they smuggled slaves through the place they weren’t using the front door or the back door for that matter. He gave the estate a final glance and sighed in frustration. One more stop. By now he could make the trip to the Blooming Rose with his eyes closed.

               Madam Lusine looked up as soon as he walked through the door, as if she could sense his approach. “Hawke, my favorite customer. What will it be tonight?”

               “The usual.” He wasn’t a fan of this part. The theatrics exhausted him although he understood their necessity. “Who do you have for me today?”

               She flipped through the ledger with a thoughtful expression. “All of your regulars are otherwise occupied tonight. But Jethann is available.”

               Jethann was never available. Hawke knew that he had a long list of regular and wealthy clients. He hesitated and looked towards the lounge. The elf had draped himself over a chaise, as if basking in the glow of the glances cast his way.

               “Has he done this before?”

               Lusine’s face fell for a moment before recovering. “It’ll be his first time, but I assure you that he’s a professional. There won’t be any difficulties.”

               Hawke chewed on his lip for a moment. “Very well.”

               “I promise you won’t regret this.” Lusine raised her hand and signaled to Jethann.

               Jethann sauntered over to him with a coy smile. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Shall we start with a glass of wine? Something stronger maybe?”

               “We both know why we’re here. Let’s just get on with it, shall we?”

               “So eager. So impatient.” Jethann put a hand on his shoulder and slid it over his arm before taking his hand. “Come on then, handsome.”

               Hawke let himself be led through the lounge and up the staircase. A couple of the patrons watched him. There weren’t many people with enough coin to spare in Kirkwall and he wasn’t one of them. Drawing attention to himself was the last thing he needed to be doing, but it was too late to turn back now. Jethann closed the door behind them then hoovered by it looking uncertain.

               “Take a seat.” Hawke indicated the bed. “Lusine says this’ll be your first time?”

               Jethann laughed as he made his way to the bed and perched on the edge of it. “You know, I never thought I’d say those words again. Not in truth anyway. Sometimes I pretend, I’ve got a couple regulars who get off on the fantasy of it.”

               “It’s not going to hurt. But it may feel strange. We can stop or take a break at any time. Just say the word.”

               Jethenn raised an eyebrow playfully. “Like a safeword?”

               “Sure, like a safeword. Just say stop or pat the mattress twice.”

               “Boring, but acceptable. So, what now? Do I just show you?” Jethan waved a hand vaguely over his lap.

               “I’m going to ask you to undress from the waist down and lay down on the bed. You can use a sheet to drape yourself.” He turned around to face the wall. “I’ll give you some privacy. Tell me when you’re ready.”

               “You know.” Cloth rustled behind him. “I’m not exactly shy. Nature of the profession.”

               “Consider it the normal ritual of mine.” Watching someone undress was intimate. It wasn’t the sort of thing you did with a patient.

               “Ready.”

               Hawke turned around. It had been strange at first, working in the dim light of a brothel bedroom surrounded by expensive red sheets, but a place like the Blooming Rose could be ruined by rumors of its workers visiting an herbalist or a Lowtown clinic. He summoned a small wisp of light and let it float over the bed. Jethann watched it with a mixture of awe and alarm. He stamped down the fear that rose up every time he did this with a new patient. No matter Lucine's or anyone else's promises, every time he did this, he risked someone reporting him to the templars or being careless and telling the wrong person about his abilities.

               “Just a bit of light for me to work by.” He reassured Jethann as he rolled back the sheet. The small scattering of sores was all too familiar. From the looks of it they’d appeared no more than a few days ago. More worrying was the mottled bruising on the upper inside of the thigh. It wasn’t a normal symptom.

               “How long have you had this bruising?”

               “Oh that,” Jethann propped himself up on his elbows to glance at it. “It’s unrelated. An _overeager_ customer. He won’t be returning.”

               “Glad to hear that.” Hawke draped the sheet back over him and tried his best to keep his expression neutral. He never got used to it. The casual manner in which a patient might mention sickening violence and cruelty. “Now, about these sores. They’re a common first symptom of crotch rot.”

               “Fuck.” Jethann put his hands over his face. “Can you do anything about it?”

               “Yes. In its early stages it’s perfectly treatable with magic. Once I’ve healed you, it’ll be like you never contracted it.”

               “Thank the stars. I’ve seen people… it’s not pretty.”

               “Untreated it spreads to other parts of the body. You were right to ask Lusine to bring me in.” Hawke had seen a couple severe cases working at the clinic with Anders. “Have you worked with clients since the sores appeared?”

               “Of course not. Lusine would throw me out if she ever found out.”

               “What about partners? Anyone you’ve been intimate with in the past month?”

               Jethann looked surprised for a moment then shook his head. “No. I’m not seeing anyone.”

               “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that checking a client for sores is a good start, but the truth is not everyone has the symptoms at first. I understand you have a lot of regular clients. You should consider discussing this with Lucine. See if there’s a delicate way that you can encourage them to get checked. Otherwise, you risk a vicious cycle.” He hated the frequency with which Lucine found need for his services, even if it kept food on the table more reliably than loading cargo on ships.

               “You won’t tell her?”

                “No. Anything about your health stays between the two of us. It’s not my place to share it with her. Knowing that, is there anything you’d like to discuss?”

               “You want to hear the story of my life?”

               “I suspect that might take a little longer than the time we have today.” Hawke offered a smile. “I meant about your health.”

               “No, just, can you do something about this before I start losing bits?”

               “That I can do. I’m going to put my hands on top of your thighs. Then you’ll see some blue light. It might feel warm or tingle a bit. But it shouldn’t be painful. We can always take a break if you need it. Ready to get started?”

               “Ready as I’ll ever be.”  

               Healing magic had always been his favorite. Whenever he startled awake from a nightmare about templars and found himself cursing fate for making him a mage, he thought back to these moments. To remember that magic could do good, that it could cure so much of what herbs couldn’t. With healing magic everything fell into silence around him. Even the noise of the Fade dulled. He molded the magic and cast it in gentle ripples through the body, coaxing it into righting itself. Nothing else mattered.

               “All done.” He pulled his hands away and turned away again. “You can get dressed.”

               “You healed the bruise. How much for that?”

               “I get paid by the visit.” If it wasn’t for the fact that he had to make a living he wouldn’t charge for it at all. He loved working at the clinic with Anders for that reason. They didn’t charge anyone there. Although they accepted the occasional donation from those who could afford it.

               “Thank you.”

                “You’re welcome. Promise me you’ll tell Lucine if you need me to come back.”  

               “I will.”

***

               He closed the door and rested his head against the old wood for a moment. Working at the Blooming Rose always wore him out. He couldn’t understand how anyone derived any pleasure from it. Just the thought of being with someone who might not be a willing participant if not for their circumstances made his skin crawl.

               “You’re back.”

               “Maker’s balls!” Hawke cursed. “One of these days I’ll jump out of my skin with you sneaking up on me like that.”

               “And what a waste of perfectly good skin that would be.” The look Fenris gave him was far too innocent. “Care to join me by the fireplace? I found a serviceable vintage in the cellar. Danarius probably tolerated it only for cooking, but I doubt your southern taste buds will know the difference.”

               “After compliments like that, how can I resist?”

               The fire was already lit so they settled into the armchairs. He noticed that the place looked a bit cleaner since he’d seen it last. There was even a table with a set of chairs in a corner of the room. Fenris opened the bottle and took a gulp from it. “Tastes like a scorching day in Minrathaus.”

               Hawke didn’t know much about Tevinter. The general consensus in Ferelden was that it was hot and filled with evil magisters who had slaves. He suspected there might be a touch more to it than that.

               “Do you ever miss it?”

               “Being a slave?”

               “Shit. Of course not.” Someone really needed to invent a spell to turn back time. “I just mean- You lived there most of your life. Isn’t it strange being somewhere so different?”

               “Sometimes. That doesn’t mean I miss it.” Fenris offered him the bottle.

               He feigned suspicion. “Is this a trick? Are you tempting me? I distinctly remember promising I wouldn’t touch your wine.”

               “Let’s consider this an additional clause. You may touch my wine… with permission.”

               Hawke raised an eyebrow. His mind wanted to take that places. He silenced it with a tiny sip from the bottle. He enjoyed spending time with Fenris, but wine wasn’t his beverage of choice. Besides, he wanted to be sober when he finally gathered his courage to bring up the slavers.

               “Do you miss your home? Carver told me that you escaped from Lothering.”

               “We lived in Lothering, but it wasn’t really my home. We moved around a lot. I don’t miss it. It was a miserable town. One giant patch of mud.” He’d grown used to the unexpected moves. The place didn’t matter much as long as he had the people that mattered. “Bethany loved it though, so that was nice.”

               “Bethany?”

               “My sister. Carver’s twin.”

               “Where is she?”

               He didn’t like thinking about that. There hadn’t been time for a proper burial. “She died. The darkspawn killed her.”

               Fenris seemed taken aback. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry for your loss.”

               “Thank you.” He found himself wondering what she’d say if she were sitting here with them. She would have liked Fenris, he decided. Would have made him tell her everything about Tevinter, and about his markings, and how he’d come to Kirkwall. “What about you? Any family?”

               “I have no memories of them.”

               He couldn’t imagine that. Sometimes he thought his family was the only thing that had kept him sane through all their years on the run, even if, on occasion, they brought him to the brink of losing his mind. “He took you from them, as child?”

               “You misunderstand.” Fenris stared in to the fireplace, the bottle of wine forgotten for a moment. “Getting these markings is my first memory. I was young, but no longer a child. Perhaps it was the spells or the agony of lyrium being carved into my flesh. When it was done I had no recollection of myself. Not even my name. Danarius named me. Fenris, his ‘little wolf’.”

               Little wolf, like an affectionate nickname for a favorite hound. He thought he might be sick. “I’m sorry.”

               Fenris shrugged and looked away. “You must hate the darkspawn.”

               “No. I don’t hate them.” That hadn’t stopped him from killing as many of them as he could manage. “I’d be like hating the fire that destroys your home. They act without any kind of personal intent. Not in the way we think of it anyway.”

               “Even so, how do you stay here, when you could be fighting them?”

               “My family needs me. Anyway, it wouldn’t bring her back.”

               “You’re lucky to have so generous a family.”

               Hawke laughed. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t met Gamlen. Maybe I can trick him into leaving the house when you come over for dinner.”

               “Dinner?”

               “You didn’t think my mother was kidding, did you? She’ll never stop pestering me if you don’t come to dinner one of these days.”

               “Your mother… she wasn’t scared of me.”

               Hawke shrugged. “I don’t think there’s too many people left in this world who could scare her. She’s been through a lot, but she sees the best in people. It’ll be fun. We’ll bring Isabella. She can turn anything into a party. I have to warn you though, porridge aside her cooking is pretty terrible."

               Fenris fiddled with his gauntlets. It fascinated Hawke that he never seemed to take them off. Sometimes he forgot that beneath them there had to be a normal pair or hands. He wondered what it would be like to hold one of them.  _Focus, Hawke._

               “Danarius used to throw lavish dinner parties. He had me serve wine for his guests. My appearance intimated them. Which he enjoyed.”

               “Hmm.” Hawke took another sip of wine. “Well, you know what they say. There’s no cure for poor taste. I can’t imagine why they’d be put off.”

               “I’ve never known a man who says what’s on his mind quite so often.”

               Hawke grinned. “Dare I call that another compliment?”

                “You may.” Fenris smiled, his eyes sparkling with amusement behind a few wisps of snowy hair.

               His stomach did a pleased little flip. He had to do this now. Before he lost the nerve again. “Fenris, there’s something I need to tell you.”


End file.
